


Moonlit

by disco_theque



Category: U2
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disco_theque/pseuds/disco_theque
Summary: Edge always has trouble sleeping, and Bono is always willing to help him. Set during Lovetown, but the city isn't important. Bono's POV.





	Moonlit

**Author's Note:**

> This started as something wholly different, but as I got into it, the muses led me here - isn't it lovely when they do that?
> 
> Edge's sleeping habits are quite like my own (aka: we don't sleep), but I'm almost grateful for it, because in this week of sleep deprivation, I found the inspiration to get this off the ground.
> 
> This is my first time writing from Bono's voice and I have to say, I loved every second of it, and I get why you all do, too. The way he sees and experiences the world is just, so much.
> 
> All the love in the world to zoolovelies whose guidance and way with words helped form this and helps me through every part of my life.

“Edge, please get down here and at least kiss me,” it comes out more of a whimper than a demand than I expect, but I can hear the catch in his breathing, so I know I’ve still got him, at least a little bit. He otherwise doesn’t respond, just continues his circling, his maddening circling that came as a result of… I rack my brain, and it comes back, and it turns me on more just thinking about it. 

He woke me up in the darkest part of the night, the still air fully settled in our room in whatever city this is, whatever hotel we are in this time. I love him the most when he is like this. He woke me with his fingertips, tracing my collarbone, and when I startled awake, he didn’t let up, just moved his attention to my throat, his touch somehow both featherlight and also the weight of… all of this. I don’t know how long he had been doing this, this time, but I know that he doesn’t keep any normal sleeping hours, and I’ve woken up to his eyes, hands, mouth, on every part of me before, and I know with full confidence this won’t be the last time. I wanted to grasp his hands, grasp him, but my body was still heavy with sleep, so I smiled at him, the tight-lipped demure one that he loves. 

He brushed my hair back off my forehead, then crossed the room, opened a window, complained he couldn’t sleep when the world was so alive, when I was so alive, when we were so alive together and had so much to do. He stood by the window and I let him go on like this, my spaceman, my scientist, until his thoughts turned darker, wicked, as they usually do when we’re the only people awake in the world. Outside, the clouds shifted and parted, as though his words cut through them, clear to the night sky, and moonlight flooded our room as he spoke. I’m not sure how long he went on like this, but his words eventually turned to my body; his riddles turned into more direct questions, how badly did I want him and what did he do to deserve me and do I know how much he loves it when I take him deep as I can, surrendering my body to him?

It became too much for him, though. I could see it. His eyes went dark and he told me to get on my knees in front of the bed and he’s been studying me intently for the better part of… has it been five minutes? An hour? Just a few seconds? I realize I have no idea what time it is, and I realize I don’t care. I took my place on the floor, between the scatter of velvet and faded denim we had discarded hours earlier, giddy and in love and riding the high of another breathless show. He started on the bed, sitting and watching me, startled both of us when he cleared his throat, then stood up again and started these maddening circles. If I want to, I can grab his ankle, his knee, stop his path and rush this, but I’m curious what he has in mind for this evening (morning?), so I let him continue. 

A breeze mercifully comes in the window, and I can’t help but wonder if he controls the clouds and wind and I wouldn’t be shocked to learn he does. It snaps me back to some idea of reality, though, and I realize just how turned on I am. I have no idea when it happened, but I realize I am desperate for something, any kind of contact with him, so I beg him to at least just kiss me, but he just smiles as he rounds me again. 

“Edge,” I whisper, more desperately this time. He stops short, in front of me so he can look me in the eyes, and I love him for it.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick, “Your knees?” 

“Yes, daddy.” It’s something I’ve called him, playfully, a few times before, and his reaction has always made me laugh, but now he’s not laughing, he inhales sharply at it and I can tell he likes it and now I get why people use this dynamic. I begin to mull this over, but he interrupts my train of thought.

“I had… an idea. I think you’ll like it,” his eyes are sparkling now, and I am grateful, so damn grateful for this man and his brain. He winks at me and I wink back and it’s our cue - when his brain won’t shut off on nights like this, my submitting to him does the trick, and he’s back in his role, back to circling. 

“Can I…?” I trail off, not sure what I’m asking, but I need to do something, anything, and he considers this for a moment. Still circling. Always moving in and out of my sight, and it’s working, it’s driving me crazy already.

“You can touch yourself,” he finally says and before I can move my hand he adds, “Outside your pants. Don’t get yourself too worked up yet.” 

I want to answer, “Too late,” but there’s an intensity in his voice that tells me not to push my luck, so I sigh and move my hand from my side to my cock, outside my pants, and I can’t help but groan at the relief just that contact allows. He lets me go on like this for a short while, and when he stops in front of me again, I can see that this is affecting him, too. 

“Suck,” he says, resting his fingertips against my lips, so I open my mouth and shift forward a little and his eyelids flutter shut and he’s beautiful. His face goes soft and serene and it’s enough to make me cry if I wasn’t so turned on and when I hollow my cheeks and take his fingers further into my mouth, he moans and the mood turns darker. “Wetter.”

I want to whisper his name, but his callused fingers are gentle but insistent, taking up my entire mouth. After a few more moments, he shifts and uses his left hand to push his shorts down, then runs that hand through my hair and keeps it there, holding me by the back of my head. It’s obvious to me what he wants, so when he removes his fingers from my mouth and grasps his own cock, hard, I’m surprised. I’m aching for him, I need to feel him inside of me, and when I look up to meet his eyes and tell him this, his head is thrown back so I can’t see his face. 

“Edge, daddy…” it comes out hoarse, “What can I…?”

He’s stroking himself hard, and I trail off to watch because it’s clear he hasn’t heard me - or maybe he has and he doesn’t care, maybe this is what he was thinking about all night. After a moment, his hand slows and he lets out a groan that’s shaky and I recognize immediately that he is close. It lifts, at the end, the groan taking on my name, and I look up again and he’s smiling at me, and it’s one I’ve never seen on his face before, it’s more of a sneer. 

“Call me daddy again,” he says, his voice low, barely moving his lips.

“Daddy.” I gulp after it and he winks again and I’m still with him, I am, but I can’t begin to anticipate what he says next, in a rush to get the words out, like he can’t believe he’s saying them.

“I want to come on your face, baby. I want to...”

“Oh, Edge.” He looks down past my eyes and I look down at myself with him and we watch as my hand moves seemingly of its own accord, stroking and squeezing my cock, still outside my now-damp pajama bottoms. His words spur me on, and I bite my lower lip and let what he’s said sink in. He scratches at the back of my neck with his left hand and I’ve nearly forgotten it was there, but it reminds me I should give him an actual response. “Daddy… Yes.”

He hisses out a sharp breath at that, and his hand nearly slips off his cock, precum mixing with my spit from earlier. “I want—“ He has to stop talking to moan, he actually cuts himself off and throws his head back and moans, and his messy hair spills down his back and he’s magnificent, then he grins down at me, a little crazed, a little apologetically, and starts again, “I want to… explain it, but I’m so close, baby.”

“Daddy.”

“Bono.”

“Do it.” 

He lets out a strangled noise, his hand tightens in my hair, and I barely have time to close my eyes before he comes. It’s hot and it sends shivers through my body and he’s talking through it, somehow, because of course he is. He doesn’t still his hand and the sound is magnified now, sloppy and obscene in our still room, and it mixes with his litany, his “Look at you,” and “If you could see yourself,” and “So proud of you, baby,” then, after his breathing slows, his right hand joins his left, cradling my head. My hair will be a mess but I hardly have time to think about this because he tenderly uses his thumbs to wipe off my eyelids and his touch is so caring it tears through me with emotion. 

I open my eyes and he’s there, right there, he’s sitting on the bed again, his strong legs on either side of me, and he’s cradling my head still, and his eyes are a mix of lust and adoration but mainly concern and I can’t help but love him for his worry for me in this moment, so I shake my head a little and flash him a smile I hope conveys just how okay I am. His, “Baby…” is more loaded than I’m expecting, though, so I wonder if my face is more desperate than I realize.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say, “More than fine.” I feel his come near my lip so I dart my tongue out to lick at it and I can actually see his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re so…” 

“What is it?” I can hear the awe in his voice, and it’s a tone I’ve never really heard from him before, and I have a feeling why it’s coming out this way, and I have to confirm my suspicions. “Reg?”

“...Dirty…” it comes out of him on a breath, his thumbs ghosting my cheekbones. “Baby…” he trails off, and I take the opportunity to resume stroking myself, slipping my hand into my pants, finally, and his exhale is rough above me. “Come here.”

I let him help me onto the bed, and he lays me back against the pillows, handling me so carefully even though his ragged breathing betrays the calm he’s clearly trying to put on now. He slides my pants and briefs down and off, then sits up straight and regards me thoughtfully, and before I can ask why, he’s off to the bathroom. I hear water running but all I can do is lay and wait for him to return, and he’s back after just a moment, breathing more steady, more normal for him. The bed shifts a little with his weight and he slides up tight next to me, then pulls me into his arms so he’s cradling my whole top half, as he leans up against the headboard. I adjust a little so I’m more comfortable, and we both sigh, a position we’ve practiced to an art, the way I fit in his arms, my back against his chest.

“I imagined it would make me feel powerful but I had no idea,” he begins, and his voice is back to its gentle timbre now, and he begins to wipe my face clean with a damp washcloth that’s not too hot, “And you loved it, Bono, you…” 

“I did.” The weight of emotion in my voice surprises me.

“Bono.” He places a kiss behind my ear and it goes straight to my cock, then he resumes his careful cleaning, trailing the washcloth down my neck and throat more than he needs to, but it feels amazing. “Since the first time you submitted to me… I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t know how…” 

“To tell me you wanted to come on my face?” I can’t help myself, and the laughter that tears through both of us is a relief from our intense mood. He catches his breath after a minute, sighs, and sets the washcloth on the bed.

“Well… yeah.” 

“Edge.” 

“When we’re onstage, the way your face shines… the sweat…” He moves out from under me, and begins a slow trail of kisses from my temple to my neck, “Your throat…” His hand grips my cock, and I had all but forgotten about how close I have been this whole time after this gentle moment. His lips stay by my ear, where he tells me in great detail about how at the end of a concert, I look like I’ve just had the most explosive orgasm, and it’s something I’ll remember every time we take the stage from now on. “I needed to see it, to…” He strokes me and does that thing with his callused fingers around the tip that I love, and I buck under him and it’s going to end so fast, too fast, but I can’t slow down now. “I needed to be the one to make you look that way.”

I want to say his name again, tell him I love him and I love his need to have a hand in everything that happens in my life, in our band, but when I open my mouth, a groan spills out and I spill into his fist and he smiles down at me in that way he always does. A warm wave of exhaustion fills my body, and I can’t help but settle into the bed while he wipes his hand off and I can see the moment he considers taking the washcloth back to the bathroom, but he shrugs, tosses it on the floor, and stretches out along my body. 

“I think I can sleep now,” he says, nose buried in my hair, and I have a fleeting thought of the mess he’s made of me, I can feel the way my hair is matted to my neck, and I could get up and take a quick shower, but his arm drapes along my stomach and I wouldn’t dare dream of moving. “Thank you, baby.”


End file.
